Red (plus) White (plus) Blue (equals) Light Purple
by FemaleHawkayyyyy
Summary: Bucky's finally ready to face Steve again and lets Steve find him in Germany, his last stop in his journey for self-identification. Steve's the happiest he's ever been, to have Bucky back, but a little surprise that slips his mind awaits Bucky in Steve's home life.
1. Chapter 1 - The Reminder

Chapter 1: The Reminder  
>Blood, heavy and crimson, splashes over the grungy, tainted, imitation marble of the motel's sink. A low sigh, and the rushing of water quickly washes the now light red streak down the drain, quickly followed by the foamy white mixture of shaving cream. He places the razor on the counter.<p>

"Fuck," a tired hand trembles as it reaches over, under the lip of the counter, feeling for the toilet paper that hangs on an angle from the hook that barely holds on to the side of the cabinet. A small piece is torn, hand still shaking, and is shifted to the other hand. This hand does not shake. He presses the paper to the underside of his jaw and it quickly soaks in the wet, warm blood. He doesn't feel the warmth seep through the paper onto his hand.

He tosses the blood soaked paper away and runs his trembling hand under the water, bringing it to his face and wiping his face clean, this time he feels the still flowing blood. He sighs again and lifts his chin, glancing in the mirror, blood now trickling down his throat. It's a rather long gash on an otherwise smooth face, he thinks, perhaps, another reminder of exactly what he'd been trying to slather, cut, wash away. He holds a cloth over it to slow the bleeding and continues to dress himself.

It shows, of course, that gash, that reminder. The skin around it is risen and painfully red, and it peaks up slightly from under his jaw line, people are bound to notice. That is, if they don't notice the weight of seventy years hanging from his left side.

Bucky Barnes, or, no, the Winter Soldier, the Winter Soldier had done some bad things in those seventy years, but to him, though he tried, those two things, those two people, would never be mutually exclusive.

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, a veteran of the second world war, was a soldier and had killed people, Bucky Barnes had been captured and tortured, and Bucky Barnes had been exploited. The Winter Soldier is, or was, a hunting dog, the Winter Soldier kills, or killed, when told to kill and heels, or heeled when told to heel. But there is one thing that Bucky has that the Winter Soldier never had.

That is the good, and the good is Steve Rogers. Everything Bucky Barnes did could be traced to Steve Rogers, and of all the bad that Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier did, his deepest regret is that Steve had had to watch it all from the sidelines. That's why, when the Winter Soldier set out for Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes returned.

For the first time in seventy years Bucky Barnes made a decision for himself, and that decision was to save Steve Rogers. His second decision was to leave Steve Rogers. He'd left to piece together what remained of Bucky Barnes.

Now comes his third decision, to find Steve Rogers.

After nearly three years of evading him, of using what the Winter Soldier had learned to survive, of hiding in shadows and alleys and these musty motels that stink of cigarette smoke that he'd now come to appreciate as a luxury, of moving from city to city, country to country, and just laying low, he's ready to once again face his good. He's ashamed of what he's done, both as the Winter Soldier, and post-Winter Soldier, an ex-assassin with a rather signature, rather noticeable metal arm can't exactly act humbly on his own when he needs to get around, instead, he manages. But this was going to be over now, he's going back to Steve.

Clean-shaven and dressed in a new green sweater and black jeans, not exactly nice clothes but new, clean clothes, he sighs and looks in the mirror. Conscious of the gash on his chin he tries to look away; to the brown, shoulder-length hair that's been cleaned, brushed, and styled for the first time in a while, to the otherwise smooth face that has for so long been covered in uneven, scratchy hair; but still his gaze sets on the irritated skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. He tucks his hands in his pockets, straightens his back and puts on a sad smile, trying to soften his eyes, to express anything other than sadness or displeasure.

"Hey, Steve," the voice that comes from his mouth still seems unrecognizable as his, it's quiet, it's scared, and what the hell is 'hey, Steve'? This is the first time he's talking to him since he supposedly died where he's not trying to kill his best friend; not a casual meet up after summer vacation from school. He slouches and rests his forehead on the mirror, figuring it to be better to just leave this to the moment. Glancing to his small bag of possessions he decides he doesn't need them anymore, this is going to be a fresh start.

Germany. He's in Germany. Of course he finished this journey where it all really began. As he steps outside he knows it'll be no time until Steve shows up, he's been on his tail for these whole 3 years and he'd seen news just yesterday that Captain America was presently in Germany, not by coincidence. Hands stuffed in his pockets he starts down the street.

As usual he interacts with a little people as possible, though he stops a moment to buy a coffee with the minimal amount of money he has left from his last, what he calls, job. Even in the seconds of conversation, he notices the glances to the out of place gash, a few subconscious hands roaming to their respective jaws.

"Danke," he forces the word from his lips as his eyes lower to his coffee, and he's sure to retract his right hand from his pocket to pick up the steaming paper cup. Stopping to grab a packet of sugar he almost drops the cup as his body tenses with one word.

"Bucky."

"Steve."


	2. Chapter 2 - Home - hōm

Chapter 2: Home - _hōm_  
>Bucky had been waiting for this, he'd purposefully allowed it to happen, but now he's finding it hard to turn. He keeps his eyes cast down and he can feel the eyes on them - some set on Steve, the upstanding hero, with admiration; the others on him, uncertain, the now unmasked villain. He shifts his weight and frees the silver hand from his pocket, taking up the coffee in it where it will stay secure. Still, he doesn't turn.<p>

Steve takes a step forwards, Natasha at his side, Sam somewhere behind with the local law enforcement assuring them that they've got this covered.

"Bucky," Steve starts again, unsure of what words to use in this situation. All these years alone, all these years chasing his friend, and now he's here and Steve can't think of a word to say to him. Not while his back's still turned. He stops approaching when they're close enough to have a conversation, and he waits for Bucky to respond either verbally or physically before he says anything more. He sees the right shoulder blade slowly relax, and Bucky turns, leading with his left.

He's tired, of course he's tired, even with the faint attempt at a smile his eyes are dim and appear almost shadowed as they gaze down at the still, black liquid. Bucky's right hand slowly raises to brush over his mouth and the corner of his lip trembles before the words seem to drop like weights from his lips.

"I told you not to do anything stupid while I was gone," a pause as his eyes glance quickly at Steve then back down to his coffee. He presses his lips together, gauging whether he should, whether he's allowed, to say what comes next. Steve just hears the next to silent, "and you go and get that haircut?"

It's followed by a quick exhale through the nose, what Steve can only guess was Bucky's attempt at a laugh, and he watches as once again his hand runs over his mouth and chin. His fingers linger as he nervously traces down the raised skin from his minor injury of the morning. Hand still resting on his face he once again sneaks a glance back at Steve, but he's unable to hold eye contact for more than a moment. This time his eyes don't set again on his coffee, they linger to Natasha, the Black Widow, Natalia, he knows all about her, and a second later they're moving over Steve's shoulder to see Sam Wilson, Falcon, enter the shop. He knows about him, too. The coffee shop, that mere minutes ago had been clamouring and buzzing, is now dead silent.

Steve hears Sam enter and he sees Bucky's eyes fall both on Natasha and Sam before they quickly skip over Steve and settle on the floor. Taking a risk, Steve leans forward and places a hand on his shoulder, the right shoulder that he figures Bucky would prefer, and as he smiles he can't help to get a little tearful. He gives his shoulder a light squeeze, and, despite Bucky's downcast gaze, Steve has his eyes set on his pale lids and thick brown eyelashes.

"Bucky, these are my friends Natasha and Sam," he takes the time to introduce, not wanting to assume he would remember, though he's not sure if the memory existing would be favourable or not. There's a nod. A gentle push to the shoulder blade and Steve's leaving the cafe with Bucky once again at his side.

"And they're your friends too. They've helped me all this time to find you, and they want to help you too, Buck. We're going to do everything to help you through this, you don't have to be alone anymore."

'On our way home' is what Steve keeps saying to Bucky on the plane heading to New York. He's too embarrassed to ask Steve what the word 'home' means the first few times he hears it and cannot quite pinpoint its definition. It swells, in Steve's voice, in his chest. The word 'home', and suddenly it clicks. He doesn't have a home. He hasn't had a home in over half a century. He's had a "клетка" - klʲet∙kə - a cell or cage, even a "комната" - kom∙nət∙ə - a room, but for so long he's been without a "home" - hōm. But Steve says he's taking him there, and he believes him.

Steve talks for the both of them, he knows this is going to be a process to work at, that is if Bucky even wants to work at it. It'll come in Bucky's time, it might not come at all, and it sure as hell will never be what it was before, but it doesn't matter. As long as Bucky's there, as long as he's safe, as long as he's comfortable that's all that matters.

They arrive in New York not much past six in the afternoon. Sam had slept the whole way and Natasha had taken advantage of this to change the settings on Sam's computer to Russian. Steve and Bucky, on the other hand, had spent the whole time sitting across from each other, Bucky's eyes only having landed on Steve's separate features and the sky outside of the window. If he were asked for a description of both, he could hardly tell you if it were clear skies or cloudy.

Bucky wonders now, as they step out onto the street, surrounded by lights and noise and buildings, is this "home"? Is the hard, cold ground under his feet "home"? Is the air that he now breathes "home"? Or is one of these specific buildings "home"?

"Not quiet home yet."

Guess not.

"We're going to make a stop at Stark's," Steve adds as they pile into a car of which Sam takes the driver's seat, Natasha the passenger (after jokingly calling shotgun), and Steve and Bucky in the back. Bucky pauses, shoulders rise and tense, mouth becomes dry and the breath that escapes him brings him back to reality. Tony Stark.

The building they walk into is one of the strangest Bucky had ever seen, but it seems to leave a bitterness inside him that he isn't sure stems from anxiety, or fear, or anger, but he's certain it's not bewilderment, he's seen technology of these likes before. His left shoulder rolls as if to crack, and the light sounds of metal migrating and clicking into place follows.

"Welcome back, Captain Rogers, Masters Wilson, and Romanova," JARVIS speaks in his usual calm tone. "And greetings to Sergeant Barnes"

Bucky's body physically stops, but his mind reels. He's been free for three years now, but he finds himself standing arms outstretched, wrists together, in silence at just the use of such an address. Three years and parts of the system are still running.

He thanks himself for it being this part of the system.

"Bucky, are you okay?" He hears Steve's voice, but he keeps his head lowered, his eyes on his wrists. It takes no physical strength for Steve to lower Bucky's arms, but he cannot do it on his own, against his own brain's pleads to just lower his arms. He knows they're staring, he registers how their bodies become more rigid.

In his mind he sees their eyes, afraid and unforgiving.

"Bucky will do." Steve informs JARVIS, and there's a moment of understanding as the AI changes its greetings and recognition to "Master Bucky" in place of "Sergeant Barnes".

He's being led down a hallway, a hand on his back guiding him on his way. He knows this is Steve, and he knows where Steve is going, where Steve is taking him, he wants to go, but his head won't lift. He knows it's Steve. He reminds himself it's Steve.

Finally, his head lifts and his eyes meet Steve's, they've been waiting for him. This time his eyes don't dart away. It's Steve. He forgets his feet are still moving until Steve stops and helps him to the couch in the sitting area Bucky is just noticing they're in. Unlike the hallways, the lobby, the business, the large windows overlooking the city, the large, soft couches, and the bar feel much less familiar. Home. This isn't home, but it's the closest thing he's felt to the sensation of the word. Steve raises a hand, but Bucky shakes his head and sits himself down, sinking further into the cushion than he thought possible, uncertainly placing his arm on the armrest.

"Yeah, I did that the first time, too." Steve smiles but doesn't sit down.

"Wait here, breathe, just relax, okay? I've got to go take care of some stuff then we'll go home. Do you want Sam to keep you company?"

There's that word again, home. Every time it's spoken it's followed by a couple blinks. After a moment's hesitation Bucky shakes his head. He mouths 'no, thank you' and Steve's face lights up before he mouths back an "okay". Steve goes back down the hallway from which they came, followed by Sam and Natasha, and gives a small wave before turning into one of the rooms without a glance back.

In the room, Tony's leaning back in his desk chair facing a few screens displaying a select few of the security cameras, but the main one shows Bucky sitting rather still, looking out the windows.

"There, now was this really necessary?" Steve says as he sweeps by Tony's chair, nudging the back to make sure he has his attention. He stops on the other side, folding his arms over his chest, his eyes set on the monitor.

"Well considering last time he saw you he tried to k-"

"That was three years ago."

"Doesn't make him less capable. It was weird, too easy, after three years and you're just going to pick him up in a coffee shop and take him home?"

"About that," Natasha starts to add, Steve's eyes suddenly turning to her from the monitor. "I'm not sure bringing him home is such a good idea."

"Nat, we talked about this before, I can handle him, not that he needs to be handled. He's not him, but he's not dangerous-"

"Oh he's dangerous, we're all dangerous, we're capable and that makes us dangerous. And I'm not sure if his suppression is something to be proud of, he could be a time bomb," Tony says, spinning around in his chair. Steve's eyes fall once again on the monitor.

"Where else would he be able to stay? He's been living in horrible places for so long, I said I'd give him a home."

"He could stay here."

"He's not staying here, he doesn't like it here, you were watching, you saw him."

"We all did, Steve, that's why I think it'd be better if he didn't go home with you. He can still be triggered, that was a mild one, but who knows if he's had worse experiences these last few years," Natasha says, looking to Sam who's thus far remained quiet, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Steve also glances over to him, but he remains silent, so Steve begins again.

"There's no evidence of that-"

"Do you think he'd leave behind evidence if he had? Hell, I don't even know if he'd remember it if it happened. Look, even if I had expected him to be like this I wouldn't care if you wanted to take him home and take your chances but with-"

"Oh don't bring her into this. I never said that would be permanent."

"After this amount of time it kind of has to be, plus you adore her and she adores you-"

"She could stay here if she has to, I could still see her."

"So you won't subject Bucky to this because 'he doesn't like it here' but you're willing to-"

"Can I just say, as the owner of this establishment, you're assuming I'd take that little devil in," Tony interjects.

"You'd be willing to house Bucky but not her? Besides, she's only like that for you because you react. Bucky's not better but he's changed, he won't hurt her."

"It's on you if he does, Cap," Sam finally joins, unfolding his arms and standing up straighter.

"Do you really want that? It's your decision if you want to risk it- her."

Everyone turns to Steve, whose eyes on the monitor now seem glazed, unfocused. Bucky can be seen folding his hands in his lap, ripping his gaze from the skyline and moving it to his hands.

"Even like this, especially like this, I trust Bucky Barnes. We'll take it a week at a time, if at any point I think there's even the slightest hint at a problem, we'll come here. All of us. Not just him, not just her, all of us," he says as he starts heading for the door, adding in a hushed voice and he leaves, "if that's okay with Stark."

Bucky sees Steve come back, jacket in hand, eyes cast down, brows furrowed. Bucky raises to his feet to meet Steve, who lifts his head and greets him with a small smile, handing him the jacket.

"So, are you ready to go home?"

Home, as Steve would present it, is a very narrow, red brick, three story building with a black roof that, at one point, may have been single room apartments. Not too far from downtown, but something that, in Steve's words "has a nice neighbourhood feeling; like when we were kids". Bucky doesn't remember being a child, and Bucky isn't certain a neighbourhood - nā∙bər∙ho͝od - is anything but a noun meaning a housing district within a city, but Steve suggests otherwise, he suggests it can also be a feeling, and Bucky hopes that with Steve he'll be able to learn this.

"I'll have to move when Clint to moves his car, or Nat's car, I guess," Steve says as he pulls up in front of the house, parking on the curb behind a slick, metallic red car. As they approach the house, walking up the cracked cement stones up the small front lawn and up the wooden steps towards the door, Bucky attempts to look into the bay window. The lights are on, but the light, white curtains block everything of what lies behind these walls from Bucky's sight. Steve taps the brass knocker on the black, wooden door three times and Bucky sees a figure, whom he assumes to be Clint Barton, stand up from the floor. The figure lingers a moment before heading towards the door, and Bucky now, also, turns his attentions to the door. Steve isn't looking at him when he says there's a bit of a surprise that he's yet to mention, but he assures Bucky it's part of "home", so Bucky believes him. Steve's lips seem dry, his eyes are fixed on a certain height on the door, and his shoulders fall slightly as the door swings open.

"Papa!" Bucky hears in a loud, screechy voice. All in one motion Steve swoops down and stands back up, a small child in his arms, clinging to his neck, its black hair pulled into two tiny pigtails on either side of its head, wearing a purple onesie. Bucky doesn't even acknowledge Clint standing at the door.

Steve's smile wavers as the child's face nuzzles into his neck and he turns to Bucky to see the blank eyes fixed on the small person in his arms. As he speaks, a second pair of light blue eyes set themselves on Bucky.

"Bucky, this is Kate."


	3. Chapter 3 - Katie

Chapter 3: Katie

"That'll be two large pizzas I get to charge to the 'Captain America' tab at any time," Clint says, squeezing by Steve and Bucky in the doorway, Bucky being relieved of the second set of blue eyes. His own eyes don't move.

"I thought we'd agreed on three?"

"Yeah, but she was just such a blast I cut down my fees," Clint smiles as he makes his way down the steps, waving to the little girl.

"See you later, princess."

Kate giggles and mimics the waving, her hand flopping loosely on her wrist. Bucky watches as her head once again rests itself where it seems most comfortable, the nook under Steve's jaw, and his hand moves from the door to span over her back.

"Papa, home," the little girl coos. This is not just Steve's home, this is Kate's home. Now the words flow seamlessly from Bucky's mouth.

"Is she yours?"

There's a silence. Kate recognizes the pronoun as hers, and, once again, Bucky feels those blue eyes pressing on him. He avoids them and focuses on the familiar.

"Biologically? No," he says only once he starts moving into the door, holding it open with his foot for Bucky to follow. As Steve turns his back Kate repositions herself in his arms, her doe eyes peering over his shoulder. After blinking a few times Bucky turns his focus away from them and onto the house, which is just as narrow on the inside as it appears on the outside, but her focus remains the same.

Directly inside and to the right of the door is a narrow flight of white stairs, accompanied by a pillared railing. He notices, on the wooden floor, to his left, a few pairs of large running shoes, contrasted by the tiny Velcro shoes whose designs, patterns, and pictures are almost unrecognizable underneath the layer of dried mud. The ceilings are high and the lights that hang from them are the only source of light down the hallway that runs the length of the house along beside the stairs. The walls, though scattered with picture frames of all sizes, are all white. Straight down the hallway the propped open door reveals the wooden cabinets and black countertop of the kitchen. On the right only a door that leads under the stairs and a door to a small bathroom, on the left an open doorway to a dining room and a set of French doors to the living room.

Leading Bucky into the living room Steve pushes the toys strewn about the floor off to the sides with his foot. A toy car, a barbie, a stuffed dog, a plastic dinosaur are all gently pushed against the wall under the bay window's flowing curtains.

"Up late and birdman made a mess," Steve says with a smile as he tightens his grip on Kate's fragile body and leans over to pull the coffee table from the wall to its proper place between the TV and the leather couch. Bucky stands stationary in the doorway of the room.

"You wait here, I'm going to go move the car, then it's bed time, okay?" Kate nods in understanding as Steve gently places her on her feet. He stops beside Bucky on his way to the door, placing his hand lightly on Bucky's left shoulder.

"I'll be right back, sit down, get comfortable, make yourself at home," he says quietly, patting Bucky on the shoulder and heading back into the hallway.

Unable to avoid it now, Bucky once again observes the little girl as he moves to sit down, but, to his surprise, she's not returning his gaze. Instead, Kate makes her way, on her little feet, over to the window, pulling apart the curtains and climbing into the little nook, watching Steve move the car forwards into the spot which Clint's car had previously occupied. Under his weight, the leather couch gives a small squeak as Bucky sits himself down, this gets Kate's attention. Cautiously, she lowers herself feet first down off of the window sill, and, still full of energy, runs across the room to Bucky, hands resting on his right knee.

"Hi!"

"Hello."

Kate narrows her eyes, pulls herself up onto the couch with her arms, sits beside Bucky with her legs sticking straight out, and tries again, repeating herself in a louder tone. She receives the same response.

Frustrated, Kate rolls herself onto her knees, holding herself upright with a hand on the back of the couch. Bucky inches away from her slightly when he notices she's intending on crawling into his lap. Her eyes, scanning his face, don't miss the crease between his brows, the eyes following her movements, or his lips press tighter together when she moves towards him. She lowers herself back into a seated position but remains facing him with a smile, knees out, feet together, hands tucked in the space between her body and her feet. He smiles back at her this time and nods once, to which she responds with a dramatic head nod and a grin.

For the first time now Bucky really takes in the features of her faces. Of course he's noticed the round, crystal eyes framed by her shocking, long, thick black lashes, but now he's noticing how her small nose turns upwards, how her nose and cheeks are covered in light freckles, and how she holds her pointed chin up in a way that forced Bucky to look away and stifle a growing smile.

"Making friends, Katie?" Steve asks as he comes back in, tossing his keys into a basket on the coffee table.

"Yeah, Papa! I make a friend!"

"Made," Bucky whispers and gives an encouraging smile when she turns to him. Her brows knit together, she her vacant eyes seemingly staring through him.

"I _made_ a friend," Kate finally says, her eyes darting back to Bucky's, her smile only returning when he once again gives her a small nod. She enthusiastic turns to Steve, as do Bucky's eyes, and she crawls over to the end of the couch, standing up and putting her hands on Steve to balance. Habitually, Steve runs his hand over the back of Kate's head, but his eyes lock with Bucky's.

"I made a friend, Papa, I made a friend!"

"Yes, you did, and you can do things with your new friend tomorrow, but it's time for bed now."

"Papa," Kate whines as Steve picks her up, tapping her nose with his fingertip, drawing a giggle that she tries to hide under her pouting expression.

"Say 'night-night' to your new friend Bucky, okay?"

"It's sleepover?" she asks curiously, looking up at him as she waits for a response.

"Yeah, sort of, we'll talk about it in the morning," he tells her with a smile, then motions for her to say goodnight. Still somewhat displeased with her bedtime fate she sighs out her 'night-night' and gives a small wave as she's carried out of the room and up the stairs.

"Night," Bucky's able to softly answer, though she was probably out of earshot by the time he was able to respond.

While Steve is busy upstairs, changing Kate into her fuzzy purple footie pajamas, tucking her in, and reading her a bedtime story, Bucky pushes himself off of, or out of, the couch in which his body had slowly sunken into under his weight. Curious, he strolls over into the hallway and starts examining the pictures on the otherwise plain, empty walls.

First, there's a picture of Steve and Natasha and Clint sitting in what Bucky recognizes as a room in Stark tower, aggressively pressing buttons on controllers and half falling off their seats. Next, a picture of who he assumes to be baby Kate, beside another picture of the same baby with a couple people he doesn't recognize - a younger woman with Kate's hair, Kate's nose, and an older man with a slight resemblance Bucky couldn't place. A few more pictures of Steve with various other heroes, smiling, laughing, making his own, new memories. Some in costume, some in casual clothes. There's a picture of Steve with Kate, having a picnic together with a third place set on their little blanket. In this picture Kate looks smaller than she is now, but with the rate of growth at that age Bucky's not sure the picture was taken that long ago. He judges by the light spring jacket that she's wearing, that is obviously purple, that it was taken just a couple months ago. At the very end he sees something familiar, his own face. He begins to walk towards it, but he suddenly hears the door close upstairs and Steve's footsteps echoing down the stairs. Bucky moves back a few paces until he finds himself once again looking at the picnic picture.

"Everyone says no one bothers with printed pictures anymore because it's all online, but I like a mix of both, and Kate likes to help put new ones up."

Bucky doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry about that, by the way, I should have told you. It didn't occur to me at first, we'd had the plan for you to come home since before this was her home too, but if nowhere else I should have told you at Starks. I should have given you the choice to come here with her if you wanted to."

"She's really not yours?"

"No."

"She was theirs?" Bucky motions to the picture a few frames over.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And she's here now and that's all that matters."

"Sorry," Bucky mumbles, seeing Steve's faint reflection in the glass of the picture frame turn towards the photograph Bucky had just mentioned.

"It's all right, but what do you say we have something to eat? I'm starving and you haven't eaten anything except some crackers on the plane that Nat almost forced down your throat."

Bucky waits until he sees Steve walk by him in the direction of the kitchen before he turns and follows. He keeps his eyes on the wall until the end, where he can once again see himself, who he's come to recognize as himself, proudly smiling back at him. It's a photograph he's seen before, though he can't remember anything about it that he hasn't read in captions or footnotes. Everything outside of the last 3 years and bits and pieces of the past 70 were footnotes, and a footnote is nothing without its main narrative. The problem is he's not sure what the main narrative is. He continues to follow Steve to the kitchen.

The kitchen is just as plain as the other rooms, though the black appliances and counter are a nice change to the constant white. Against the wall is a small table, with a chair on either side, and the tabletop is scattered with crayons of all different colours.

"Sorry, Katie likes to draw while she waits for her food," Steve says as he quickly pushes them into a pile and picks them up to put them in a plastic cup also sitting on the table, stained with rainbow crayon marks. He then motions for Bucky to sit.

"You want something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Water? A juice box?"

"Whatever you're having is fine," Bucky says as he pulls out the chair across from the cup of crayons, and Steve pulls a coffee machine out of the cupboard. There's an extended silence, as Steve readies the coffee maker, that isn't broken until the sound of stem and dripping coffee.

"So, you're okay with this- with Kate? I mean, I know you didn't sign up for this."

"Yeah, it's fine, it's not the worst thing I didn't sign up for."

Steve looks down.

"Buck, I'm s-"

"So, when'd you get her?"

"What?"

"Kate. How old was she?"

"I- She was about one and a half when she came to live with me, then we moved here," Steve set a coffee down in front of Bucky, also getting out the milk and sugar. "But you should save those questions for her tomorrow. She's not shy, and she loves to talk, she'll answer anything even if she doesn't quite know the answer. Either you ask her questions or she'll ask you questions. Is frozen pizza okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Must be hard, Captain America's daughter who'll answer anything."

"Took her some time, but she won't just answer to anyone now. Though I told her if they're in the house she can go ahead, but I can get her to slow down if you ever need it."

"No, it's- I think it'll be good. I haven't done much talking, and if she makes that easier then I welcome it."

Maybe this is the feeling of home Steve had been talking about. Eating pizza at night, talking about the little girl asleep in her room upstairs, planning the following days. Maybe it is these good feelings he hadn't felt in so long. But as quickly as they had come to him, they slip away as he reaches for his mug with the left hand, accidentally crushing it, still filled with hot coffee, into pieces. All he can do is stare at the silver metal, now steaming and dripping with liquid.


End file.
